


Slug-Pierced Ear

by twelvepercentofaplan



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Explosions, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4584771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvepercentofaplan/pseuds/twelvepercentofaplan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between getting Tennessee's cane returned to its rightful owner and planning their next move against Toothpick, the hole in Tennessee's right ear comes up in conversation. And the origin is a bit embarrassing for the raccoon, to be honest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slug-Pierced Ear

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally had one of the shittiest weeks in a good long while.
> 
> New job and all, managed to snag the HD collection of the first three Sly games, but things just suck. Username change for a damn stupid reason, too. Loads of personal shit that I don't wanna get into, but it's frustrating...
> 
> So to vent my frustration, I decided to write. Considered doing something based off of the ending of the amazing Five Nights at Freddy's 4, but decided to just hold off on that for now. So instead I finished this one-shot that was halfway done. Set between after they retrieve Tennessee's cane back from that gross armadillo and before Tennessee goes off and saves Carmelita.
> 
> And it explains the origin of the hole in his ear.
> 
> Thrilling.

“...And that’s how I came out on top in a bar fight against an entire gang of owls."

It’s a long story that was luckily cut short, although it could have been dragged on and on and on just based off the impression Sly has gathered from his gun-slinging, energetic ancestor of the Old West. Loud (not in a bad way), wild (again, not in a bad way), and with quite a mouth on him (well… this could go both ways, really), Tennessee “Kid” Cooper lives up to the image of an outlaw that usually comes to mind with his bowler hat, rowdy attitude, and affinity for guns.

Everyone in Tennessee’s stomping grounds, a little area called Cotton Mouth Bluff, knows of the raccoon’s old habits and never dared to cross him in a bad way. Underneath that charming attitude and smile with the cigarette sticking out between his pearly white canines, there’s a seriousness when it comes to his line of work. And having what was about to be his greatest heist interrupted by a slimy scumbag by the name of Toothpick, the supposed “sheriff” around these parts, didn’t exactly thrill the raccoon.

But now he had help in the form of the Cooper Gang, led by his future great-great-great grandson, so the bitterness and frustration had boiled down a bit, sending the raccoon back to the humored, confident ‘coon he was before the armadillo’s nasty snout poked into his life.

“Guess the past repeats itself," Sly muses to himself. "Wait just a second, Tennessee. Bentley's-"

“Oh, those cowards didn't see it comin'!” the brown-furred raccoon cries out with his arms flying upward. “They never saw it comin', I'm tellin' ya! Didn't expect little old me to pack such a punch, I swear!"

Sly doesn't even continue to listen to Tennessee's story, unlike Murray, who's all ears. “Bentley?” The turtle in question, who sits on the opposite side of the table with Murray practically boring holes into the screen, looks to Sly with the inquisitive look that had just started to spread across his face. “I know that look. You got something?”

“Well, yes, I do,” Bentley begins matter of factly, looking intently back at the screen. “Aside from the fact that Toothpick isn’t from this timeline, just like the tiger back with Rioichi, it appears he’s working under the power of someone else? Does that make sense?”

“Just like El Jefe?” Murray inquires.

“That would be him, Murray,” Sly responds as he points the hook of his cane upward and leans on it. “Anything else you can gather on him, Bentley?”

“It might take me a minute. But he has been behind many, many gold heists in the past, some of them even being the most famous in the world. Remember Budapest?”

Sly and Murray gasp in unison. “Budapest?”

Tennessee looks between the gaping hippo and raccoon with a raised eyebrow. “What happened in Budapest?”

Silence for three beats as Sly continues to attempt to comprehend what he’s just heard before Bentley gives the raccoon a proper response. “A very elaborate and well known gold heist, Tennessee.”

Finally, Sly learns how to use his mouth properly. “Well, elaborate and now very highly despised by me. Anyways, can you try to-”

“I’m working on it as we speak,” Bentley says, obviously having read Sly’s mind. “Tech’s being a bit wonky. Might have something to do with the dust around here?”

“That’s fine. Take all the time you need, Bentley,” Sly responds. “Just try to give us some sort of leverage. We need some kind of plan, right?”

“Right.” With that, Bentley begins to somehow dig himself even deeper into his compute fingers typing away furiously.

Sly flops down into the seat nearest to himself and Murray follows suite. “Until than, we just wait.”

“Sly, do you think Carmelita’s gonna be angry with you when we get back?” Murray says almost worriedly. “I mean, she’s kinda terrifying when she’s ticked.”

The raccoon smirks and scoffs. “Yeah, she will be. Don’t worry, though. I’ll be taking the blunt of that beating. Or yelling at. Or laser shooting.”

Tennessee laughs aloud. “You got yourself a lady back where you’re from?”

“It’s, uh, complicated. I’d rather not talk about it. Let’s just say that she’s a better shot than whoever hit you right in the ear, Tennessee.”

Tennessee’s ear in question with the round, bullet shaped hole in it flicks. “Oh, son, this ain’t a bullet wound from some pansy with a gun. The Kid’s never been hit by a bullet from his enemies a day in his life, thank you very much.”

Sly raises an eyebrow. “Oh really? Where’d it come from, than? No way it was caused by something else. You must be lying. That’s a bullet hole.”

“It’s… complicated,” Tennessee says almost breathlessly.

Sly grins at his ancestor’s hilarious reaction. Defeated, with his ears pressed onto his head and fake pout on his face. “Oh, come on, don’t lie now. Just tell us what happened. We’ve got time.”

“Well…” Tennessee eyes Bentley in hopes that maybe he’ll miraculously finish up so no one has to hear this ridiculous story. But there’s no signs of the turtle being finished anytime soon. So the raccoon lets out a sigh, rolls his eyes, and says with a laugh, “Alrighty, than. So, there I am, down by the river that runs through the canyon…”

* * *

 

“Kid!”

That one word syllable alone was all it took to make Tennessee, with a twenty pound sack of gold swept over his left shoulder with his nifty, upgraded “cane-revolver”, at least fifty feet above a river coursing as fast as ever on a simple wire, stop and look around with his ears perking higher than ever.

Obviously, he’s got a lot going on right now. But that was someone calling his name as if it were a challenge. And Tennessee Kid Cooper isn’t one to back down from someone like that, no sir. And he can only presume that it is coming from that log raft that is just below him, stacked high with barrels labeled “TNT” atop various other crates that the raccoon sees are also labeled with two other highly explosive items: fireworks and dynamite. All it would take is a single step off to the side and…

 ** _BOOM_**.

So, as you can tell, that’s exactly what happened.

It wasn’t hard to tell who the enemies were, either. Almost immediately, a rabbit in white fur yelled out in a panic and a fox behind the lever that he was just pumping a moment ago draws his revolver.

But this is Tennessee Cooper, not some other raccoon who was feeling dangerous. He’s a real crackshot. So it’s no shock that two seconds later, the fox is shot and thrown into the water by Tennessee’s quick draw. The rabbit, with a dynamite stick in hand, lights the TNT barrel nearest to him with the same stick of dynamite.

And then Tennessee’s gun jams.

No matter, though. The gun doubles as a hooked weapon and that bunny sure as hell didn’t like getting smacked across the face with the golden hook.

But now the TNT is lit.

“Shoot. Is there a sort of--” And when he turned around, he found--

 _ **Oh**_.

See, he didn’t expect to twist around and see the waterfall there. He knew the area well and was fully aware of the waterfall’s existence, but the raccoon hadn’t expected it to pop up right over his shoulder like it had.

But TNT _**and** _ a waterfall? Really? Even for trying to kill a wanted outlaw (and losing a good $2,500 dollars for not bringing Tennessee in alive), this is overwhelming.

“Well, this is a set up if I’ve ever seen one,” Tennessee grumbles irritably while his head darts back and forth. He looks around quickly, noting the sizzling on the TNT wire, and beginning to think even faster.

And just above where the river ends and the waterfall begins, there’s a rickety, old looking rope bridge. And although it looks like if the wind blows it will fall apart just from a breeze, it’s the raccoon’s only choice.

And he loves risk. It’s a thrill.

Tennessee grins, whips his cane around with the hook side upward and makes a leap of faith at just the right moment before the TNT raft falls over the waterfall and, a moment later, explodes in a fury of red and orange.

Tennessee whistles in admiration, gripping onto the barrel of the gun with the hook on one of the wire-like ropes dangling precariously from the bridge’s bottom. “Now THAT is an explosion! Quite the light show!” Tennessee swings himself back and forth before he unhooks his cane from the bridge’s rope base and pulls his agile self up onto the old, damaged structure carefully.

“Woo!” He rips his hat off his head and fans himself with it as he slips his cane around with the barrel facing upward and leans up on it. “Nice getaway, as per usual. No one can get between Tennessee and his-” The raccoon freezes when it hits him like a fast moving locomotive.

“Well, this time somethin’ got between Tennessee and his gold,” the raccoon grumbles irritably, his face falling flat and steam rising out of his ears. He grips the barrel tightly and slams his cane, hook first, into the orange dirt and…

Well, finally, the trigger snapped back...

* * *

 

And Tennessee’s story stops there abruptly. The raccoon leans over the back of his chair again, arms draped lazily over the back with the revolver-cane combination in one hand. Sly gives him a look of anticipation, as if waiting for another outcome to this story. Murray wears a similar look on his face, but he’s practically jumping out of his chair waiting for Sly’s ancestor to finish the story.

“And what happened next?! Did the gun shoot a bird or something?!” the hippo barks excitedly.

“You say that like it’d be the best possible outcome, Murray,” Sly laughs, turning his attention back to Tennessee and motioning for him to continue. “So, what next?”

Tennessee raises an eyebrow. “Whaddaya mean ‘what next?’”

“As in what happens after the gun went off? Did it hit a bird or…?”

Tennessee’s back straightens and he shakes his head with a bewildered look on his face. “I ain’t about to out right say it, Sly. I mean… the implication is there, isn’ it?”

He received blank stares in return, and he makes that strange, flabbergasted noise that’s a mix between a sigh, a huff of breath, and the sound of one’s lips smacking together.

“When I smacked it up against the ground, the cane let the bullet out and it… well…” The raccoon pokes a finger at the circular shape on his right ear.

“It…?” Murray cocks his head slightly. “Wait, really?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sly demands. “You’re telling me that you, Tennessee Kid Cooper, legendary outlaw, who’s only had one bullet wound in his entire career as an outlaw, was the cause of that exact bullet wound?”

Tennessee gives a flat, embarrassed look that switches between both Murray and Sly before he admits in a defeated tone while returning to his slouched, relaxed position, “Yes, that’s exactly what happened.”

And of course Sly laughed. Tennessee had expected it, and he wasn’t shocked when his grandson’s friend took part in the laughter as well. Murray didn’t outright burst into tears like Sly had, but the raccoon found it so funny that he gave himself a headache and had a hard time inhaling a single breath.

“A’ight, now shut your mouth, or I swear I’ll give ya one of these just like mine, Sly,” the elder raccoon grumbles.

“What? A-A slug pierced ear? I-I wouldn’t be able to complain, seems like you did a damn good job on yours!” And Sly still continues with his laughing, on and on and on.

Tennessee rolls his eyes and flicks the cigarette from his mouth and into the corner, rising off of the chair and flipping his cane around onto his shoulder. “Go ahead and laugh it out, kid. Least I’ve got the wound to prove my reputation, yeah?”

“Where are you going, Tennessee?”

“I’m goin’ on out for a moment just to test the ol’ revolver out. Sure hope Toothpick didn’t do nothing to it,” he says, aiming down the barrel of the gun and just so coinidentally pointing it in Sly’s direction.

“Hey, hey,” Sly raises his arms up in defense. “Point that thing elsewhere. Maybe at your own-”

“My own ear?” Tennessee grins before flipping his cane back around to its previous position. “No worries, kid, I’ve got no intention of shootin’ you. All in good fun.” And with that, he heads out the door in a flash before Sly can make another snide comment.

Besides, he didn’t have much time to because Bentley pulled him aside and had an entire essay to fill Sly in on about the narcissistic, long-snouted armadillo that was the cause of their troubles.

* * *

 

“Woooohoooo! Yeeeah, baby!”

It was a quick, easy shootout that ended with the sly, nimble fox-like creatures similar to those from the origin of the bullet-shaped hole in his ear defeated and flat on their backs. And now he’s up on a tiny saloon, using the strange, almost alien device Bentley had pawned off to him to search around the entire tiny town. What was it he’d called it? A binocucom? Yeah, something like that, and it’s said to have a built in comms unit, whatever that is. Tennessee just nodded up and down and said, “I love me some new gadgetry!” before he tried to aim it and fire away as if it were filled with bullets.

Genius.

“Well, I’ll be…” He zooms in with the binocucom toward a gap between two massive rock formations and whistles. “Strangest thing I ever saw… well, strangest thing I’ve ever used to see, really. Sly’s got some-wait, what’s that?”

What is that? That is the sight of a blue clad fox tied up with a rope and… it’s that bastard armadillo! Toothpick! What’s he got her for?

“Hmm, that’s no good. Looks like Toothpick rustled himself a pretty lady…” Tennessee muses quietly whilst biting his lip.

Suddenly, without warning, the loud, nasal outcry from the comms on the binocucom exclaims, “Sweet jumping jackrabbits!” Tennessee nearly drops the tech from his hand out of shock from the sudden outburst, but he managed to keep it between his gloved fingers. “That’s no lady, that’s Carmelita! What is she doing here?”

Wait, Bentley knows this fox woman? “You know her?!” he yells unnecessarily into the speaker that is literally an inch from his face.

“I’m afraid so!” Bentley responds with a downward flush in his tone. “Something is very wrong here, Tennessee! But all quantum physics aside, we have to rescue her!”

By the sound of Bentley’s voice, the raccoon has a hard time believing that the turtle really wants to save this “Carmelita”. But he doesn’t interject the turtle.

“Nobody can get there faster than you. I’ll grab Sly and Murray and we’ll meet you with the van. Just get going!” Suddenly, the light hum of the communicator fades, and the raccoon assumes that means no one is on the other end.

“Well, looks like we’ve got somethin’ to do. Finally. Been really itchin’ for a lil' more action!"

And with a tip of his hat and a grin on his face, Tennessee shot down the nearest wire and toward the break in the rocks. Toothpick can put Tennessee in jail and frame him any time, but the second he’s kidnapping seemingly innocent people who have nothing to do with the entire incident?

That’s just another motivator for Tennessee to shoot Toothpick in his crap lousy face.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if it's shit. Just wanted to write Tennessee's character in some way and this seemed like the only logical way to do so.
> 
> I liked the idea of his wound being self inflicted, especially after going through hell and back with some bastards who wanted to kill him with TNT and a waterfall. Only Tennessee could manage that. Also I have no idea if revolvers can actually jam the way his did. I did research on it but at some point I stopped caring enough. It's a frickin' video game about thieving raccoons. And a cane-revolver is so unbelievable that anything goes at this point.
> 
> So in the event this gets, like, ANY attention, thanks for reading. Comments are hella cool and if I made any sort of mistakes, please let me know. Just finished Sly 4 recently and am pretty confident I got all this stuff down pretty good.


End file.
